


A Vow for Eternity.

by welovethebeekeeper (orphan_account)



Series: When the Vow Breaks. [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Assassination, Fluff, Kidnapping, M/M, Porn, Post HLV, death of canon characters, new dog owners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-03-16
Packaged: 2018-01-13 09:52:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1221835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/welovethebeekeeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set post HLV, John and Sherlock are coming to terms with Mary's lies and the consequences of her actions. Moriarty's resurfacing reveals yet another lie, as our boys try to heal and return to life before the Fall. This is a sequel to my fix it fic, but can be read as a separate story following the episode HLV. There will be fluff and sex, plus death of characters as in canon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> FYI. John and Sherlock have been taken by Mycroft, directly to his office in central London following the plane returning to the tarmac with Sherlock. Mary was sent home to the Watson's flat. John and Sherlock have been intimate since Sherlock recovered from his gun shot wound, with John staying at 221b for three months. Their plan had been to keep Mary in the dark for the sake of the baby, so John faked a reconciliation with her.

Office of Mycroft Holmes, Vauxhall Cross. Anthea, real name Andrea, entered the office quietly, rounding Mycroft’s desk to lean close to her boss and whisper into his ear. Mycroft’s eyes focused on John, who sat at the other side of the desk, as he listened to the message from his assistant. At one point, his eyes travelled to Sherlock, and there was a concern there that Sherlock picked up on. Anthea left a dvd on the desk and exited the room. Mycroft cleared his throat and sat erect in his chair.

“We have developments.”

“Moriarty?” Sherlock narrowed his eyes, deducing his brother’s body language. He knew it was bad news.

“Yes. He had a dvd delivered here with a request that John watch the footage alone.” Mycroft looked at John for a response.

“Fuck.” John shook his head. “This can’t be good.”

“Shall we leave?” Sherlock asked, wishing John would say no.

John met Sherlock’s eyes, a silent agreement to weather the storm together. “No.” A resolute and final decision. “Let’s have it then Mycroft.”

Mycroft slipped the disc into his laptop and angled the screen towards John and Sherlock, he then came to stand behind his brother’s chair to watch. The screen showed the Watson’s flat, the bedroom to be precise, and Mary crossing the room to her wardrobe. John let out a hiss between gritted teeth as he realized the bedroom had been bugged, his thoughts racing in several directions. Mary started to undress, Mycroft cleared his throat in an uncharacteristic display of embarrassment and Sherlock glanced at John to gage his reaction. As he thought: John was angry and anxious. The screen showed Mary removing her maternity top and revealing the fake pregnancy belly.

“No.” John gasped. “No, that can’t be.....no.”

“Oh!” There was pain of loss in Sherlock’s voice, his breath giving away his shock and disappointment, his eyes wide as he gazed at the screen.

Mary unfastened the garment and let it fall to the floor, she stepped away from it; her total lack of care for the item made the reveal seem all the more callous. John looked over at Sherlock and knew that the disappointment was equally felt. The image on the screen cut to a headshot of James Moriarty.

“Sorry Johnny boy, looks like you’re not going to be playing Daddy after all. For the best really. Our Mrs Watson is such a clever little soldier. Did she get ya with the sonogram? Nice touch that. She banked on your estrangement Dr Watson. Oh well, such is life. Maybe now we can get back to business. By that I mean revenge. You’ll be hearing from me. Tell our lovely detective he should be expecting fireworks. Sorry if I upset you with this footage, thought you should know.” The screen went black.

Mycroft administered to the ejection of the dvd whilst John rose to pace the room and Sherlock looked slapped and stung, sitting motionless in his chair.

“Would you give us a moment please Mycroft.” John asked, to which Mycroft nodded and left the room. John stood by Sherlock’s side. “How could either of us have missed this?” John asked.

“From the moment I met her I misread her.” Sherlock appeared disgusted, “I let her in. I let her manipulate us, I let her lie and hurt us. I should have....”

“No.” John surprised the detective with his calm tone. “You shouldn’t have had to do anything. I brought her in, me, it was my mistake and my responsibility. I knew once you were back it wouldn’t work between Mary and me, but I was holding on to such anger over your deception, that I forged ahead with my idiotic attempt at a normal life with her. Even at the wedding I knew I had done the wrong thing in marrying her, but then she managed to convince you she was pregnant and me too. The ultimate deception that ensured I would stay with her. It’s not even original! I should have stopped it all before it got that far. It was me.”

“Maybe it wasn’t either one of us, maybe the blame has to lie with the psychopath we call Mary Watson.” Sherlock was emerging from his shock. “She bested me. She manipulated you.”

“On the positive side, we have less left to loose. Without the baby in the mix we have no reason for me to remain with her, pretending reconciliation. Fuck that.” Sherlock looked sad. “I know, I know.” John laid his hand on Sherlock’s head and gently tousled his hair. “That little girl would have been wonderful. “

“I would have liked having her with us.” Sherlock nodded. He then gathered himself together, his resolve firmly back in place. “Mary will pay for this.”

“The game is on.” John looked determined.

“Absolutely.”

“What’s the plan?” John returned to his chair, a look of expectation on his face.

“We do exactly the opposite of what Moriarty expects us to do. He wants us up in arms, seeking him, launching a search, an all out campaign.” Sherlock explained with a smirk.

“And we do what?” John was unsure of the answer.

“We go on holiday John.” The detective turned the smirk into a full fledged smile.

******

The woman known as Mary Watson emerged from the Watson’s flat almost unrecognizable; slim figure dressed in jeans and a beige leather biker jacket, shoulder length dark brunette wig, brown contact lens. It was two in the morning and she had dismantled the cameras that had bugged her flat, they were of no use to her now. She left by the back entrance to the building and walked away from the house with a determined stride.

John had not returned home nor had he contacted her. She knew that her cover had been blown; the pregnancy had been a hasty decision prior to the wedding to keep John with her when he was clearly becoming aware that Sherlock returned his feelings of love and attraction. She had known it was a temporary measure, easily revealed, but it had worked for over six months and bought her time. Mary knew that today had been the day the ruse was over, it was an instinctual ability she had honed over years on the run. Mary took keys from her pocket as she stood in front of a row of ‘lock up’ garages, several hundred years south of the Watson’s flat. One key unlocked a garage and she rolled the door up to reveal a motorbike. Within minutes she had a helmet on and was heading for the inner city.

At three forty two Mary arrived at her destination, she left the motorbike on the pavement and scanned the area: no people around at this time of night, a few CCTV cameras angled towards her, but they were of little consequence. Mary knew where her prey lay asleep. Within seconds she had gained access and was standing at the end of the bed, gun in hand, silencer on. Without hesitation she emptied the chamber into the bed’s occupants, they never moved. Blood splattered the walls and began to seep through the crisp white duvet. Mary turned and exited the way she had entered. Calm, cold and without regret she donned her helmet and mounted the motorbike, she revved the engine and took off into the night.

In her wake, lay two men; several gun shots to their bodies which had caused death instantaneously. One had managed to open his eyes as the first shot penetrated his body: James Moriarty died at three fifty five, his lover, Alonso Ricatelli, had died two seconds before.

******


	2. Chapter 2

The Government Committee in control of MI5 and MI6 operations had convened a special meeting, Lady Smallwood presiding as always. Mycroft was giving his debrief.  
“The bodies of six men were found on a yacht moored in West India Dock, all killed with a single shot to the head, with the exception of two, who displayed multiple gun shot wounds to their bodies. Four of the men appeared to have been sentries on various parts of the vessel, the other two were in bed in the master cabin. We have identified all six men, one is James Moriarty. The vessel was registered to one of his companies. He appears to have used the yacht as a base, sailing to various ports of call around the world.”  
“How can we have two dead James Moriartys?” The under secretary asked.  
“As there were once two alive James Moriartys it follows.” Mycroft fought a grimace. “Twin brothers, the same first name, one used the diminutive of ‘Jim’ the other preferred “James’. Jim committed suicide on the roof of St Bartholomew’s Hospital three years ago. James was assassinated on his luxury yacht moored near Canary Wharf three days ago.”  
“And the murderer?” Lady Smallwood ventured.  
“Unknown. But likely a disgruntled minion of Moriaty. They were highly trained, knew the layout of the yacht, knew the habits of the crew. The precision of the kill shots indicate the guards knew the shooter, they were not alarmed. The overkill of James Moriarty, and by default, his lover Ricatelli, point to a murder versus assassination, emotional motive. Most likely spurred on by the recent reemergence of Moriarty on every television screen in the land.”  
“Where is your brother in all this?” Major Sinclair had a vague mocking tone in the delivery of the question.  
“My brother is exactly where he should be Minister, now on sequester in a safe location with a support team, all working on the apprehension of the killer and also on the dismantlement of Moriartys threads of influence in crime rings and the corridors of power. It is an ongoing task force, and my brother is ideally suited to head that force. A waste of talent in eastern Europe on a ‘grunt’ mission.” Mycroft was rapid and sharp in his reply.  
Lady Smallwood sensed tension building in the room and aimed to diffuse. “We all agree with you Mycroft that Sherlock’s talents are unique and irreplaceable to this particular issue. You do recall that a pardon, under the Official Secrets Act, for the murder of Charles Augustus Magnussen, is reliant on Sherlock irradiating any and all threat to the realm that emanates from Moriarty or his cohorts?”  
Mycroft gave a subservient smile and brief nod. “Of course Lady Smallwood. My brother will complete his remit to all our satisfaction. I have no doubt.”

******

Lestrade was waiting in Mycroft’s office when the elder Holmes returned from briefing the committee, he stood by way of greeting. Mycroft looked slightly harried, Lestrade thought, as the man entered the room.  
“Hello Greg. Do sit down.” Mycroft spoke a polite greeting and took his seat behind his desk.  
“Update?” Lestrade wondered why he had been called to see Mycroft. “On our end we are nowhere closer to knowing who the shooter was since I last spoke to you.”  
Mycroft acknowledge that fact. “The yacht has been in town for several weeks, CCTV show many unsavory characters boarding the yacht at various times of day and night, however a few weeks ago there was one visitor that causes concern.” Mycroft placed a still on the desk in front of Lestrade. It was Mary Watson boarding the yacht. Lestrade looked at Mycroft in horror.  
“No. Mary? What the hell...” The detective stammered.  
“I am afraid to inform you that Mary Watson, or Mary Morstan, is not the name of this woman, we still haven’t been able to track down her original name. However she is a rouge assassin, American, trained by the CIA, went freelance, formed an attachment with Moriarty and was placed close to John to discover if Sherlock was alive, and if so to kill him. Mary was the one that attempted to kill Sherlock.”  
“What the fuck...” Lestrade was flabbergasted. “John’s sweet little Mary?”  
“Very little sweetness I am afraid. Pure iron will and expert skills.” Mycroft sighed. “John has been estranged from Mary since the night he discovered her duplicity, the night Sherlock had the second surgery following his ill thought out escape from the hospital. John knows her history.”  
“How did he take it?” Lestrade felt enormous empathy for the doctor’s betrayal.  
“Surprised, shock, anger, slight relief.” Mycroft shrugged. “However he is coping.”  
“The baby?”  
“A ruse. John is aware of this fact.”  
“Poor bastard. First Sherlock back from the dead, then Mary is an assassin. Bloody hell. He will need some therapy to help him cope. Where is he?”  
“With Sherlock.”  
“On a mission? You said Sherlock was going undercover for you.”  
“Not any more, they are on sequester working on the Moriarty case.” Mycroft stood and circled his desk. “Mary is the leading suspect in the shootings on the yacht. She had prior association, motive and opportunity. She has fled the Watson’s flat and disappeared. Her remaining targets will be John and Sherlock. Your investigation should take you down that road. I suggest you begin with the flat and her known acquaintances.”  
“Blimey, what a mess. Will you let John know that I am concerned for him and will offer him any help I can?” The detective stood up to leave. “And Sherlock too, tell them both to be careful.”  
“I will Greg.” Mycroft smiled and patted Lestrade on the back. “I will be in touch soon.”

******

The Cornish coast is ragged and stark, especially in February, when the gales can whip up the waves and smatter the coast with a rain fresh from the Atlantic; so fresh that the raindrops taste of salt. The cliff’s appear as a wall, rising from the grey sea, the coves like rips in the barricade; indentations that reveal sandy beaches or small fishing villages that nestle for shelter. On a cliff top, overlooking Poldhu Bay, two lone figures moved, bustled by the wind.  
John had thought to bring his wind proof, rain proof, parker plus stout walking boots unlike his partner that had arrived in his usual sartorial elegance which had little chance of braving the elements. John looked appropriate, as he strode the grassy cliff top, whereas Sherlock looked; ‘gothic’. John looked at him; hair a riot on his head, pale skin with a pallid grey tinge in the Cornish dark daylight, coat tails billowing in the wind, a fine layer of sea mist covering every inch of him and thought ‘he actually adds to the landscape here.’  
Sherlock noticed John’s gaze.  
“What?”  
“You. You look like you belong here. Well not here as in now, because you’re an idiot and didn’t dress for the weather or the terrain, and so you look like a bit of a tit. But you look like you belonged here in history, a more romantic time before the invention of weather proof clothing.”  
“Byronic.” Sherlock ignored the insults and took the compliment. “I have been referred to as Byronic before.”  
“Is that a deliberate image?” John was genuinely curious.  
“No!’ Sherlock scoffed, then after a second his expression acquiesced and nodded: ‘Yes. The way I dress is obviously a choice, although the overall image is a subconscious projection of my desire to communicate my personality, profession, class and attractiveness to the onlooker.”  
“Ta for that then, it certainly worked on me.” John laughed, which earned him a smile in response. John looked behind them, “it’s still following us you know?”  
“Just ignore it.” Sherlock refused to turn around. “It obviously lives in one of the farms, it will go home once it gets tired or hungry.”  
“What farms?” John looked at the empty landscape, “there are no farms or buildings near here. I think someone has dumped it. People do, especially a couple of month’s after Christmas, when reality sets in.”  
“Not our problem.”  
John did not like that answer. He took hold of Sherlock’s arm causing him to stop walking, he turned the detective around and held him steady. “Just look at it. We can’t ignore it.”  
Sherlock looked at the stray dog; a puppy, about three months old, black and white, short hair, obvious ribs showing.  
“It appears to be an English Bull Terrier pup.” Sherlock deduced, “emaciated, probably been on it’s own for ten days to two weeks, socialized to people as once it noted our presence it attached itself to us. A cut on it’s nose suggests it has been digging, possibly for food or to bury scraps of food it found. Female.” He looked at John, “forty something ex army doctor, penchant for danger and adventure, strong need to nurture others, recently discovered a stray hound which he is compelled to foster in spite of his significant other’s protestations and the irrationality of the commitment he is undertaking. Which may be sixteen or seventeen years in duration.”  
“Can I keep her?” John giggled at Sherlock’s deadpan deduction.  
“Mrs Hudson will be cross. I warn you.”  
“Come on let’s go back to the cottage, feed the poor thing.” John relinquished his hold on Sherlock and went to stroke the pup. Sherlock watched as John made friends with the eager dog, and wondered if John needed to fill a hole that the phantom baby had left in his heart with this pup as a substitute. Sherlock had been adverse to pets since Redbeard, but watching John and knowing John had a need to heal, the detective made the decision to embrace this turn of events.  
“She appears to have taken to you instantly.” Sherlock’s tone was soft and filled with fondness. “We’ll need the accouterments of dog owners now, best go into town this afternoon.”  
John beamed a huge smile in Sherlock’s direction. “Thank you. I have wanted s dog for a long time, thank you for this.”  
“Let’s jog back, see if she can run with us.” The detective took off in the direction of the rented cottage, John and an excitable pup in his wake.

********

That night as they lay in the dark, under the beamed ceiling of their holiday cottage, post coital and close together under the duvet, Sherlock snuggled into a nearly asleep John and whispered:  
“It was a good day.”  
“Yeah.”John replied in a relaxed tone.  
“I didn’t think I would have any other days with you. When I boarded that private jet I thought it was the end. Therefore every day I am with you will be a good day, every second cherished.” John stirred at the realization.  
“We are meant to be Sherlock. I know that. You and I. No other option. Just the two of us against the rest of the world.”  
“Plus Lizzy the bull pup.”  
“Apparently so.” John was amused. “She settled in really well.”  
“Of course, we are offering her warmth, shelter and food.”  
“Plus a life of adventure and love.” John pulled Sherlock closer and kissed him. “That’s what you offer me.” They kissed for a while before hearing a small whine from downstairs.  
“Your dog is needing attention or to go outside.” Sherlock smirked, as John groaned. “It’s fine, I’m not sleepy, you sleep and I’ll go and care for her.”  
“Be in bed when I wake up.” John instructed allowing Sherlock release from his arms. “I want to resume our snogging session.” John settled in for a good nights sleep.

******

John awoke to sunlight streaming into the room and a cold nose in his face and a dog’s tongue licking him. He pulled back to gauge his surroundings and saw Sherlock asleep on the other side of the bed, with Lizzy in-between them, half wrapped in her puppy blanket, all wagging tail and erect ears. John petted her and smiled, it appeared that Sherlock Holmes had brought the puppy to bed with him. John felt happy, it was going to be another good day.

******

Mary was at a table in a late night cafe in Bristol, drinking coffee and searching the papers for clues to where she would discover the whereabouts of John Watson. She intended to give him the option of remaining with her or death. 

*******


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock was in the living room, attention fixed toward his laptop, with John, in the opposite chair, reading the newspaper. It had been a pleasant morning; a walk with Lizzy down to the cove and lunch in the village. John was beginning to feel relaxed, although the spectra of Mary loomed in the back of his mind. He knew there was a day of reckoning to be had, and he was not looking forward to the prospect. He hated that he had not ended everything with her as soon as he knew she had shot Sherlock, but the baby had been a possibility. Since seeing the proof on film that the baby did not exist, John had not wanted to lay eyes on Mary; afraid of the anger that he may spew her way.

Abruptly, Sherlock stood and crossed the living room, peering out of the window. John’s danger radar went into full swing. “What?” 

“Helicopter.” Sherlock could not see it yet, but his keen hearing had alerted him. “Low, landing pattern.”

“Road accident near by maybe?” John had started for the front door.

“Mycroft.” Sherlock followed John out onto the front lawn. The military helicopter was three hundred yards away, slowing to descend, the two men stood by the front door of their rental cottage and watched as it landed in the neighboring paddock. Lizzy, the puppy, was barking from her vantage point in the kitchen window, perched up on the window seat, annoyed that the large machine had come close to her territory and her pack.

Mycroft disembarked and came over to the cottage. “Thought we had three weeks without interruption?” John was exasperated at the intrusion.

“There’s been developments.” Sherlock had surmised the reason for his brother’s visit. “Bad enough to warrant you leaving the city.” Mycroft gave a small nod and his eyebrows raised in confirmation.

“Shall we go in and I will update you?”

Sherlock turned and went back into the living room, his gold dressing gown gave a swirl as he did so. John and Mycroft followed. Lizzy bounded out of the kitchen to discover the intruder. She sniffed at Mycroft’s shoe, to which Mycroft responded with a look of disgust and raised his foot off the floor. “What is this?” He looked disdainfully at the pup.

“Lizzy.” John replied in a jovial tone.

“English bull terrier pup, pure bred, likely abandoned after the Christmas season, fully inoculated, dewormed, and groomed. Approximately four months old, female. Intelligent.” Sherlock rattled off rapidly with a defensive glare at his brother.

“Lizzy?” Mycroft asked. ‘A diminutive of Elizabeth? Named after the Queen?”

“No, Lizard.” John grinned. “We found her on The Lizard Peninsula, hence Lizzy.”

Sherlock picked up the pup and held her up towards Mycroft’s face, Mycroft leaned back in shock. “Look Lizzy, this one you can bite.”

“Sherlock.” John admonished but with a fond tone.

Sherlock walked away from his brother, the pup in his arms. “She is extremely intelligent for a pup, I have high hopes for her development.”

Mycroft recovered his composure and took a seat in the largest of the mismatched armchairs that dotted the living space. He waited until John took a seat and Sherlock, with Lizzy content to be held, stood in front of the fireplace and directed his attention on his brother. “It appears that Mary, for want of the correct name, has left London. The flat has been abandoned, without fore thought of departure. She took nothing with her, nor did she leave the premises ready for another tenant. She walked out one night and has not returned.”

“How long ago?” John asked.

“The day of the Moriarty incident. Whilst you and Sherlock were on route here.”

“Do we know where she is?” Sherlock was deducing John’s reactions to the reveal concerning Mary.

“Not her current location. However we know that she went directly from the flat to a luxury yacht, moored in the India Dock, and killed six men.”

John blanched, shock apparent in his facial expression. Sherlock turned his attention to Mycroft. “Moriarty?” The detective guessed.

“Yes. Plus four body guards and one lover. Overkill on Moriarty.”

“She knew exactly where he was, so previous meetings.” Sherlock placed Lizzy on the floor and started to pace the room. “Moriarty’s men knew her, that gave her a few seconds grace period in which to delay their reflexes and get the first shots in. Neat.”

“She has excellent skills.” Mycroft admitted.

“So Moriarty, the second Moriarty is dead. We know it was him?” John asked still struggling to cope with it all. “Don’t answer that, it makes no difference, no one stays dead. Is the threat from Moriarty neutralized?”

“Yes.” Mycroft sounded sure. “Mary is the danger. She wanted you, she lost you. Now she will attempt to kill you both.”

“Why kill James Moriarty?” Sherlock was pondering to himself. “She was a long term employee, obviously had his trust, oh...oh. Yes. Moriarty wanted the opposite of what she wants. Of course. He would want me alive, to taunt and play with, but John dead. Mary wants to the reverse. She had to remove Moriarty from the equation.”

“I fear she will want John dead also.” Mycroft pointed out.

“Eventually, but she will draw it out. Just in case John decides to stay with her.” Sherlock perched on the arm of John’s chair. “How does this affect my legal status over the Magnussen affair?”

“I have told the committee that you and John are sequestered away attempting to discover why Moriarty was killed and by whom. It buys us time, as I am working on a pardon for you under the Official Secrets Act.”

“You have no idea where Mary is right now?” John was gradually taking the details in.

“Not in London, I’d know. But I doubt she is far.”

“What's the plan?” John looked to Sherlock, always his commander-in-chief when the game was on.

“I want you transferred to a safe house. Until we know her exact location.” Mycroft jumped in.

“Absolutely not.” Sherlock grimaced. “This is as secure as anywhere, no trace to the secret services or to us personally. No, we remain here for now.”

“Sherlock one of the world’s leading assassins is out to find and kill you.” Mycroft reasoned.

“She’s failed whenever she tried before.” The detective smiled. “She will reveal herself and then we will plan our attack. No, John and I remain here.”

The British Government took a deep sigh, he realized his chances of moving Sherlock were very low. “Fine. But I want a team stationed near by and surveillance on this place twenty four seven.”

“Whatever.” Sherlock waved a hand in dismissal. “Just don’t disturb our holiday.”

*****

Mary watched the house as twilight fell. She had been in the same position, behind a huge oak tree, for four hours and had observed activity in only the past twenty minutes when two men stocked firewood near the front door, and chatted casually as the February sun began to fade. The taller of the two men moved to the driveway and waved in farewell as he got into his small car and drove off, the other man went into the house, switching the porch lamp on as he closed the door. The house looked cosy and snug, set against the early night sky. Mary calculated her next move, decided on a course of action and headed towards the front door. She rang the door bell.

The door was opened by Mr Holmes. “Mary? What on earth are you doing here?” He was surprised. “John with you?”

“No, sorry about this. Spare of the moment thing. Can I come in?” Mary flashed a woeful expression and then one of hope.

“Of course, of course.” Mr Holmes gestured for her to enter as he stepped aside. Mrs Holmes had come to the hall on hearing voices.

“Mary!! Has anything happened? Are you alright? John?” The elderly lady looked concerned at the unexpected guest. ‘Oh! you’ve had the baby.” Both Holmes’ looked at Mary’s trim figure, in shock.

“Well....no baby I am afraid.” Mary scrunched up her face in regret. “Not pregnant anymore.” Her hosts stared at her, not sure what to say.

“You lost the baby?” Mummy Holmes finally asked.

“No. I lost John. That’s why I’m here.” Mary sighed, then let her friendly persona slip, her face assuming her true cold nature. “Need to flesh them out, he and Sherlock. Sorry but I need to enlist your assistance.”

Mr and Mrs Holmes glanced from Mary to each other. Mrs Holmes beginning to comprehend the danger that had entered their home. “You shot my boy!” Realization dawned.

“Yes. I do regret not going for the head shot, but I needed to buy time to escape. A Sherlock bleeding out was a better distraction for John than a dead Sherlock. Miscalculated. Won’t make the same mistake again. Now, if you two will kindly come with me, we’ll be taking your car.” Mary nodded to the door.

“I will enjoy seeing you die at the hands of my sons, which is the inevitable outcome here.” Mrs Holmes looked at Mary with hatred. “No mercy. Just retribution.”

“Oh I assure you, Mrs Holmes, they won’t get the chance. You underestimate me.” Mary brought the gun out of her coat pocket. “Shall we?” She motioned with her head for them to leave the house. “Your car keys?” Mr Holmes reached to a key rack and pulled a set of keys into his hand. The couple led the way out of the house and toward the garage, Mary behind, gun in hand.

*******


	4. Chapter 4

Mycroft rolled over in bed scowling, his mobile was beckoning him far too early for his liking. He noted the time, 1.07am, and knew that bad news waited. “Yes?” He asked.

“Sir.” It was Andrea. “I have just been informed that there has been an unusual occurrence at the home of Mr and Mrs Holmes. The lights have failed to be switched off at the normal time of eleven thirty and the bed sensors are not activated. We have turned on the infra red monitors and they do indicate that the house is empty at this time.”

“Any footage of them leaving?” Mycroft was wide awake and sitting up on the side of his bed, clearly alarmed.

“The CCTV cameras are nonfunctioning. We have already dispatched a team to the location. ETA three minutes.”

“Why the delay?” Mycroft had set a protocol in the eventuality that his parents did not follow routine, which included bed sensors which had to be triggered by 00.30am, and if not a team was dispatched to the property to check.

“Human error Sir, the agent monitoring failed to pick up on the discrepancy until 00.50 hours.”

“Written warning to that agent.” Mycroft was in the process of dressing. “Car?”

“Outside your residence Sir.”

******

Earlier that evening, while driving home, Billy Wiggins had an uneasy feeling. He had spent the day with Mr and Mrs Holmes, setting up new technology for Mrs Holmes in her kitchen, and had insisted on helping Mr Holmes with jobs around the property. He liked the couple, they were kind to him. Plus he was getting payment from Sherlock to check in on them every now and again, a job that was proving to be enjoyable. However on this particular evening he had thought he spotted a figure, lurking in the trees across from the house. He had lingered outside the home, chatting to Mr Holmes, to see if he could confirm the presence, but he had failed to see anything to warrant further suspicion. Finally he had left, waving to Mr Holmes as he drove away, but that nagging feeling was there for over seven miles, the feeling that said maybe he had actually seen someone watching the house.

He turned his car around and returned to the Holmes estate. In the glooming of the evening Wiggins parked his car on the main road and walked the three hundred yards down a lane to the Holmes house. He stopped when he caught sight of three figures leaving the property and heading for the garage. Billy recognized all three: Mary Watson and Mr and Mrs Holmes. His first thought was to call out to them, but as Mary turned, the porch light illuminated her figure and the outline of a gun, a gun pointed at Mrs Holmes. Billy Wiggins was shocked, but sprung into action; he back tracked up the lane and just made it to his car as the Holmes car came out of the lane and turned to head south down the main road. Wiggins started the engine and followed several yards behind.

*****

Mycroft was in his office within forty minutes of the initial call from Andrea. The response team had confirmed that the house was empty and it appeared as if Mr and Mrs Holmes had left without preparation; the lights were on, the doors unlocked, a fire smoldering in two of the fireplaces, milk left out on the kitchen counter as tea was in the process of being prepared, and Mrs Holmes’ Smythson handbag was on the floor near her armchair in the living room. The team noted that the car keys were gone, as was the car. Mycroft had called in several staff to comb the CCTV footage from a radius of five miles, and an all points bulletin had been released to police stations in the county to look for the car’s license plate. Mycroft prepared to call his brother.

******

Sherlock was awake and educating Lizzy in the skill set of discovering objects out of sight. He had set out four plastic cups, turned upside down on the floor, and under each one he had put a dog treat. He had demonstrated to Lizzy how to push the cups over with his nose, and was encouraging her to do the same. Lizzy had pushed one cup all around the wooden parquet floor without tipping it over, which made Sherlock grin, before taking another cup between her teeth, lifting the cup up, dropping the cup to the side and gobbling the dog treat down with a wag of her tail in appreciation. Sherlock was impressed.

“Good girl. You thought of a better way to get the treat than I showed you. Clever Lizzy.” He petted her head, to which she responded with a lick to his face. Sherlock had several other educational plans for her that night, but his phone rang, breaking the quietness of the cottage.

The name on the screen made Sherlock’s adrenaline surge; a middle of the night call from Mycroft could only mean trouble.

“What?” He asked.

“It appears Mummy and Daddy have been abducted.” Mycroft wasted no time on small talk. “Some time this evening. The alarm was raised once they failed to retired to bed, lights left on, clear signs of a sudden exit. I expect it to be Mary Morstan. CCTV cameras were expertly turned off. I’m sending you everything we have now.”

“It’s to flush John out.”

“Obviously."

"Link me in with your network.” Sherlock ended the call and jump to his feet, he sprinted into the bedroom, where John lay asleep. “John, wake up.” He called from the door.

“Can we do it in the morning?” John responded sleepily from under the duvet.

“JOHN” Sherlock shouted, making John sit up in the bed and fight to wake up.

“What’s gone on?” John finally asked.

“Mary. Taken my parents for leverage.” Sherlock disappeared back into the living room. John felt a sense of terror grip him, thinking of the involvement of the lovely elderly Holmes couple. He got out of the bed and dressed.

Sherlock, at his laptop scanning the new information from his brother, took another call. This time from Wiggins.

“Sorry to bother you in the middle of the night. But I have a situation here that needs your attention.” Billy began.

“Not now Billy.” Sherlock huffed and went to end the call, but heard a word from Wiggins that stopped him in his tracks.

“......parents....”

“What? Say that again.” Sherlock demanded.

“Mrs Watson has taken your parents by gunpoint from their abode and has brought them to a domicile near Newton Abbott. I am currently staking out the property as we speak. What are your instructions?”

“Billy Wiggins you are now formally my protege.” Sherlock smiled. “Do you have a visual on any of the inhabitants of the house?”

“Occasionally. Your parents are in the front room of the house, I could see your Father’s silhouette when they entered. They appear unharmed, I presume they are locked in. Mrs Watson has been into the rear of the house a few times.There doesn’t seem to be anyone else present at this juncture.”

“My Mother will have a plan, be on the look out for her executing it, help as you deem necessary. I need to inform my brother. Stay on the phone.” Sherlock threw the phone to John, who had come to stand next to him, fully dressed and with his gun tucked into his trousers. “It’s Wiggins. He’s outside the location where Mary has my parents.” The detective gave explanation.

“Billy it’s Doctor Watson. I’ll keep the call open, you tell us any new developments.” John spoke into Sherlock’s iPhone.

“Newton Abbott.” Sherlock was now speaking to Mycroft on John’s phone. “Billy Wiggins is outside the property. Mummy and Daddy are in the front room, Mary appears to be alone.”

“Need exact location.” Mycroft spoke with a slight sense of relief.

“Doctor Watson?” Billy spoke after a few seconds of silence. “I think Mrs Holmes is making a break for it...”

******


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter without our boys I am afraid. Needed to drive the plot towards it's conclusion, but promise a fluffy/sexy chapter is next.

Mrs Holmes had scanned the sparsely furnished room: two chairs, blocked up fireplace, double glazed windows, locked, one lightbulb, and one small table. Not a wealth of assets to help in their current predicament.   
As soon as Mary had left the couple alone, Mrs Holmes had sprung into action; she had her husband force the wooden arm off one of the chairs and as luck would have it, a nail came out still attached to the arm. Next was the removal of the other arm, which took longer to pry off but eventually they had both chair arms.  
Mr Holmes, as the physically stronger of the duo, took the chair arm with the nail in it, went to the front window and hit the right bottom corner of a pane of glass with the object. The first pane of glass shattered into a thousands small pieces, he then repeated the action on the second pane; same result. He then ran to stand near the wall by the door, as when the door was opened he would be hidden. Mrs Holmes proceeded to climb out of the broken window.  
Mary slammed the room door open, the image of Mrs Holmes half way through the window was both shocking and humiliating; Mary had underestimated the elderly pair. Mrs Holmes was calling to her husband as if he were in the garden and helping her out of the window. Mary bought the ruse and ran over to stop Mrs Holmes from escaping. At that instant Mr Holmes emerged from behind the door and tackled Mary from behind. He had the element of surprise but was no match for a trained operative such as Mary Morstan. She quickly turned him around and had him pinned to the floor. Mrs Holmes dropped the two foot into the front garden and started for the road and to summon help. To her surprise, Billy Wiggins was running towards her.  
“It’s OK, Mrs Holmes, I’m here, you keep running for safety.” Billy passed her in full run and sprinted into the front garden of the house and up through the broken front window. Mary was on top of Mr Holmes and was attempting to bang his head into the wooden floorboards of the room. Billy saw the second dismantled chair arm on the floor, picked it up and swung at Mary’s head. The wood made contact with her temple, and she fell back, allowing Mr Holmes to gain purchase of his arms and move away from her. Wiggins helped him to his feet.  
“Get out, I can handle it.” Billy instructed. Mr Holmes went out of the window.  
“Fuck off Wiggins.” Mary was getting up from the floor and miraculously had found a gun which she was pointing towards Billy. “How did you follow us? I ditched the Holmes car south of Exeter.”  
“Not by technology Mrs Watson, I followed you the old fashioned way. By sight. The police are on their way, you can’t escape.” Billy was standing holding the chair arm as a weapon.  
“Oh Billy, don’t be naive.’ Mary taunted as she shot Billy in the abdomen. He looked stunned, clutched his stomach, and then fell to his knees, keeling over as pain flooded his system. “Thank you,” Mary smirked, “you may have just helped me.” She turned and exited the room. Billy fell into a heap on the floor.  
Sirens could be heard in the distance, drawing closer.

********

Mrs Holmes reached the end of the road and waited on the corner to see if her husband emerged from the house, and was rewarded to see him exit the front garden of the property and start down the road towards her. A shot rang out, and the couple looked at each other. Mrs Holmes hissed something inaudible and beckoned her husband to continue in her direction. By the time he reached her two police cars and an ambulance had rounded the corner and drew to a stop in front of the house, police scrambled out of the vehicles and ran in to the property. 

*******

Two hours later Mycroft walked into the waiting room at St Augustine’s Hospital, Newton Abbott, Devon. His parents had been checked by medical personal and were sitting in the waiting room anxious for news of Billy Wiggins who was undergoing abdominal surgery.   
“Are you alright?” Mycroft crouched down before his parents, clear anguish on his face. Mrs Holmes reached out and put her hand onto his shoulder.   
‘We are both fine Myc, it’s Billy that is in danger now.”  
“You look like you have a bump on your head Daddy.’ Mycroft observed his Father’s temple.  
“She gave me quite a whack on to the floor.” Mr Holmes looked impressed, “for a petite women she is very strong.”  
“You must eradicate her Mycroft.” Mrs Holmes whispered, now using her son’s full Christian name. “She shot your baby brother, abducted us, hurt Daddy’s head and shot Billy Wiggins. Intolerable. Eradicate.”  
“Mummy.” Mycroft cast her a glance that said ‘inappropriate’. “That will be our plan, maybe not wise to talk about these matters in public.”  
“No. Maybe not. However, she needs putting down.” Mrs Holmes straightened in her chair and took on a regal air.  
“She got away. No trace as of yet?” Mr Holmes asked.  
“None. But we will find her.” Mycroft stood up. “I’ll get an update on Billy. Then we shall get you both home. Next week we will be updating your security systems, so expect the team . I have an agent recovering your car in Exeter, he’ll drive it home for you.”  
“Sherlock?” Mrs Holmes questioned. “That woman is intent on killing him. Why?”  
“He’s at a safe location. It appears Mary sees Sherlock as a......an obstacle in her reconciliation with her husband.”  
“Oh dear. Has Sherlock formed an romantic attachment with Dr Watson?” Mr Holmes wondered.  
“Yes, Daddy. He and Dr Watson had a romantic attachment prior to the business when Sherlock had to go away for eighteen months, and then once again when he returned home. Mary was a complication.” Mycroft was aiming for discreet.  
“She sees him as a rival then.” Mr Holmes nodded. “Is Sherlock emotionally compromised?”  
“Shall I just say..... Redbeard.” Mycroft sighed.  
“Oh no.” Both Mr and Mrs Holmes said at the same time. The depth of Sherlock’s emotions suddenly crystal clear as memories of Sherlock as a boy flooded their consciousness.  
“My poor boy.” Mrs Holmes shook her head, a tear in her eye. “He is so intense in these situations.”  
“You are protecting him?” Mr Holmes looked at his eldest son.  
Mycroft looked reassuringly at his father. “I have the matter in hand. Sherlock will be fine, as will his...his Doctor Watson.”

********

“They are in Cornwall.” David was intent on the technology in front of him. Mary sat next to him looking at the graphics on the screen. “Here.” David pointed, “I tracked the brother’s phone once he arrived at the hospital, before that all signals were scrambled due to his location in secure vehicles. But he was vulnerable in the hospital, just one call, twelve minutes long and it was routed to Cornwall.”  
Mary smiled at her confidant. David had been a friend, sometimes lover, for over five years, he was invaluable to Mary with his expertise in surveillance technology. Currently, in his van, packed with state of the art equipment, they could be mobile and track any form of signal that they desired.   
“So the plan worked. Maybe not as I had anticipated, but we flushed out a location at least.” Mary looked smug. “Once we get to Cornwall will you be able to narrow it down?”  
David smiled an ‘of course I can’ smile. “Their location will stand out due to their security blacking out signals from the property. It will appear as a tiny techno hole in a sea of domestic signals. Nearly every house in the UK is wired for various things, thereby making the properties that are security heavens pop out by their very lack of activity.”  
“What part of Cornwall?” Mary asked.  
“Southwestern corner.”  
“Then let’s go.” Mary scrambled from her seat in the back of the van and climbed into the drivers seat, switching on the engine. “John Watson I am coming to find you.” She whispered.

********


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and porn, you have been warned.

It was sunset over Poldhu Bay, and the leaded windows of the cottage cast an amber glow into the living room, a touch of pink and lilac hinting at the corner of the room.  
“This is my favorite time of day here.” Sherlock was in contemplation mode on the old worn out sofa. “Do you think this cottage is enchanted?”  
“What?” John looked across the room at Sherlock. “What are you on about?”  
“This cottage, could it be enchanted in some way?”  
“Sherlock Holmes are you high?” John knew he wasn’t but he felt as if the question was merited.  
“No.” Sherlock was indignant. He rolled over onto his side and looked at John, across the room at the desk. “I remember watching a film, one my Mother liked, and one she would force us to watch on rainy Sundays. It was about a cottage very similar to this one, and a soldier, a man that had been terribly disfigured in one of the wars, he had come to the cottage to isolate himself. There was a woman, a Plain-Jane, who was the housekeeper I think, and they struck up a friendship which turned into love. One day they woke up and the man’s disfigurement had disappeared and the woman was beautiful. They concluded that the cottage was enchanted. They had a wonderful life, alone and in love. But then visitors came and it was obvious that the visitors still saw the man’s disfigurement and the woman’s lack of beauty. The conclusion was that the couple were so in love they could not see fault or lack of beauty in the other. The cottage was only enchanted by their love.”  
John had listened with mouth open and a puzzled expression on his face. “You watched and remembered a love story? Of all the films out there, this is one you recall? And in detail?”  
“Yes.” Sherlock was not enjoying John’s reaction. “It is a classic movie I believe.”  
“For little old ladies and hopeless romantics.” John broke into laughter. “Never again tease me about James Bond or Monty Python. And no...this cottage is not enchanted, the only disfigurement I have is on my shoulder and it’s still there last time I looked and you, my darling, are beautiful in everyone’s eyes not just mine. So no. We are not living in an enchanted love-filled delusion.”  
“Just a thought.” Sherlock had rolled over onto his back again and was ignoring John.  
“Do you fancy going out for a meal tonight?” John changed the subject.  
“A meal?” Sherlock sounded shocked. “A meal out? A meal?”  
“Stop saying ‘a meal,’ yes, you know....a meal is when we eat food.”  
“We eat food here.”  
“Yes, but I have to purchase the food, then prepare the food, then clean up after the food. I thought that maybe my...significant other, my life partner, boyfriend? No, my one true love, yes, that works....would want to take me out to eat a meal that someone else has prepared tonight, maybe as a treat.”  
“What about Lizzy?” Sherlock looked with concern at the pup that lay asleep near the fire.  
“What about her?” John looked at the pup.  
“We haven’t left her alone yet. She’s only a baby.”  
“Sherlock, she will have to get use to being left on her own. We will be working once we are back in London. She will have long periods of time on her own. People leave their dogs alone all the time, she’ll be fine.”  
“Maybe.” Sherlock sighed. “If you insist we go out. I think it’s best if we eat here and then we can have a snuggle and maybe go to bed and have sex.”  
“We can go out then come home, and then go to bed and have sex. The only difference is I won’t have to do the bloody cooking.”  
“Fine. Yes. We shall go into town and have a ‘meal’.” Sherlock sat up and glared at John. “You break the news to Lizzy, I can’t do it. I’ll go and get ready.” He was up and climbing the stairs in a swift movement. Lizzy raised her head to watch him go, she then looked over at John. John met her eyes and felt bad about leaving her.

******

John jumped into the bed and tried to warm up the sheets with friction. The cottage lacked central heating, and in the February cold, the warmth from the living room fire did not last long nor did it permeate upstairs. Sherlock finally came to bed fifteen minutes later. He climbed in and flopped on top of John.  
“Thank God you’re naturally warm.” John pulled at him as if Sherlock were a duvet, wrapping himself in the detectives arms and legs. “What took you so long?”  
‘Bedding Lizzy down for the night, there was a level of groveling expected due to our absence this evening. I feel it safe to say she is now satisfied with our contrition. But she expects it never to occur again.”  
John giggled, “you and that dog. You know she is more yours than mine now?”  
“She adores us both. But identifies me as the alpha in the pack, therefore seeks my attention and approval above yours, the beta.” Sherlock sounded prim, “natural order of things.” John landed a dig into Sherlock’s ribs.  
“Oi. Less of the alpha shit. Two alphas here.”  
“Who is on top of whom?” Sherlock teased.  
John rolled them over, pinning Sherlock beneath him and looking into his eyes. “That never lasts Mr Holmes now does it?”  
Sherlock smiled and kissed John.   
“Besides...” John broke the kiss, “the truth is I think Lizzy may be the alpha female and within a year she’ll be running this little pack of ours.”  
“You may be correct.” Sherlock was layering kisses to John’s clavicle and starting to suck a bruise into the soft flesh below John’s neck, a favorite spot which he prefered to keep marked at all times. John reached down and slid a hand under Sherlock in order to stroke and knead his delicious bum. That caused an escalation in the proceedings and they began to gently frot into one another, growing hard with each rut.  
John pulled away from Sherlock’s ministrations and lavished attention on Sherlock’s nipples, a sensitive spot that always yielded moans from the recipient. Sherlock was raising in crescendo and John attempted to pull away from his attention to the nipples and move further south, but Sherlock held his head in place.  
‘No. No. Keep your mouth where it is.” Sherlock panted, “use your hand.” John moved a hand to gently and slowly move over Sherlock’s cock. Keeping to a steady rhythm that John knew Sherlock liked, he felt the climax approach and allowed his love to come apart underneath him.   
“You’re spectacular like this.” John spoke but Sherlock was too blissed-out to concentrate on the words. “I need to be inside you, like immediately.” John rolled Sherlock over, John too close to the edge and too needy to wait for Sherlock to comprehend directions. With a swift flick of the lube cap, a dollop of lube was on John’s fingers and then applied to the target area, Sherlock pulled himself up onto his knees and presented his arse in all it’s glory. John was inside with one slick push. Within a few frantic movements John was coming hard, his voice crying Sherlock’s name, as he rocked into completion, his arm around Sherlock’s waist pulling him up and closer to himself. Finally John stilled and collapsed on top of the detective, Sherlock lowered his knees and sprawled, content, under his doctor.   
John nuzzled into the damp curls gracing the back of Sherlock’s neck. “Bloody hell. Amazing.”  
“You always say that.” Sherlock found his voice, albeit a tad croaky.  
“It is always true.” John smiled as he kissed Sherlock’s neck. They lay silent for a few moments, before John pulled himself off Sherlock and went to clean up in the bathroom. He returned and Sherlock took his turn, before settling next to John in their sleeping position.  
“I think the word you were looking for earlier this evening, rather than significant other, or life partner or boyfriend, is ‘husband.’ It fits.” Sherlock looked at John’s profile in the darkness of the room. “Husband conveys attachment, love, protection, support, nurture, and belonging.”  
“Yes, it does, but it’s sometimes not the case that those attributes are found in the husband relationship.” John was thoughtful on this subject. “I failed once Sherlock. Spectacularly.”  
“Rubbish. You are not Mary Morstan’s husband. Never where. The woman we know as Mary used false documents to prove her identity thus rendering the marriage invalid. You just need to petition the Registry Office to have the official invalidation noted. You are not, nor ever where her husband.”  
“But I thought I was.” John turned to look at Sherlock. “For a while, I did want to be. Yet I chose wrongly and rashly.”  
“John, you have been my husband since the night you shot Jefferson Hope. We both were fools and not ready emotionally, but that doesn’t change the facts. You attempted to substitute me for Mary when you thought I had died. But as soon as I returned you resumed your relationship with me. If you consider yourself a failure as a husband to Mary, then it is due solely to the fact that you are, and were, a husband to me. An outstanding, wonderful husband in every sense of that word. No, I won’t have it, you are not a failure John Watson.”  
“Husband?” John gave a shy smile.   
“Yes. And I won’t hear another word about it. You are my husband and I am yours.” Sherlock concluded.  
“So, I need to sort out the paperwork. Then we need to.....get legally married.”  
“Of course, tidy everything up, too messy at the moment.”  
“I just want to point out, that I have no intention of doing another big wedding. It was hell last time and I saw how manic you became over the preparations, God help me if it was actually your wedding.”  
“It was my wedding. Next time we will just do the civil ceremony and then walk Lizzy through Regent’s Park.” Sherlock assured.   
“The wedding seems so long ago. Another lifetime.”  
“It was ....” Sherlock searched for the right terminology; “painful.”  
John looked over at the man now sharing his bed, and wondered why he had ever thought of being with anyone else but Sherlock. “Sorry.” It was all he could think of to say.  
“She’s out there, and she is coming our way.” Sherlock rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. “She abducted my parents to flush us out.”  
“She didn’t succeed.” John reminded. “They are both fine and home safe. Wiggins is on the mend in an expensive hospital thanks to Mycroft. No sign of Mary anywhere.”  
“And that, in a nutshell, is the problem.”  
“She can’t possibly know where we are! Plus, why the hell are we hiding from her. She wants to take us on, then come and get it.”  
“We are on holiday. We needed time to regroup after the events of the past few years. Not hiding.”  
“Yeah we are.” John corrected. “I prefer to force her out. Get it over with.”  
Sherlock was silent for a few minutes. His fear for John’s safety making him reluctant to face the danger. However, it would not go away of it’s own accord, and Sherlock Holmes was never a man to hide. “Agreed. Time to finish it.”

*****


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, work had me away from home. This is a short chapter, wanted to get something posted for you. We are gearing up for the final confrontation, longer and more angst laden chapter on the way by weekend.

They appeared like any other couple on a tourist jaunt to the beautiful Cornish Coast; maybe for a romantic weekend away, staying at a quaint inn and indulging in cosy meals in village pubs. Yet this couple were on a mission, a mission to discover the whereabouts of a certain detective and his doctor. Their old VW van was not a nod to a hippy penchant of the occupants, it was in fact a traveling tech hub which held state of the art surveillance and spy technology. David was an expert in technology systems and Mary had made sure he was at her beck and call. 

David and Mary entered The Dog and Fiddle, a pub in the village of Predannick Wollas and made their way to a table in an alcove by the large open fireplace. David took off his coat and helped Mary with hers, and then went to the bar to order drinks.  
“Can I have a pint of bitter and a shandy.” He smiled at the barmaid, “maybe see a menu.”  
“Of course, I’ll get your drinks whilst you look over our lunch menu. Here for the weekend?” The middle aged rotund lady was friendly and welcoming, as she handed David the lunch menu.  
“Meeting friends. Well surprising friends really. We managed to drive here a day early and were planning on surprising them, but we realized we have no idea where their rental cottage is.” David shook his head, “don’t we feel like idiots.”  
“Are your friends on holiday in the village?”  
“Yeah, or close by, have been for a week or two, I have no idea why we presumed we knew where the cottage was, we may be out of luck on the surprise and have to call them to come and get us.”  
“There is a couple up on the headland, at a rental cottage, a gay couple?” The barmaid attempted to help.  
“Yes!” David looked delighted. “One tall and dark, the other short with greying hair?”  
“That’s them.” The woman was triumphant. “Keep themselves to themselves, have a puppy they walk a great deal, nice enough, well the short one is friendly.”  
“Yep that sounds like our John, pleasant bloke, everyone likes him.” David offered a huge smile. “His partner is a bit of a strange one, aloof, but he is OK once you get to know him. So where is their cottage?”

******

David returned to the table where Mary was sitting, she looked expectantly at David.  
“Yes, I got it. Told you once we narrowed it down to a ten mile radius we would find them. Not exactly inconspicuous in a small Cornish village in February.”  
“Good man. I had faith in you.” Mary stoked his arm as he sat down next to her. “Let's order lunch then go and scope the cottage out.”

*******

As Mary and David enjoyed lunch at The Dog and Fiddle, John Watson drove into the village, leaving Sherlock engaged in the daily educational session with Lizzy, on this occasion it was training Lizzy to open doors, a skill which Sherlock deemed of utmost importance if Lizzy were to take on a role in their work. John had smiled at how cute Sherlock looked opening a door while on all fours and using only his nose for the task, and how Lizzy had stared at her owner, enraptured with his movements.  
John parked in the small public car park off the village green and sauntered down to the Co-Operative Grocery store to do the daily shop plus pick up the newspapers. There was a spring in his step, the sun was out for a brief spell, and John felt happier than he had in a long time.  
He passed the bay window of the pub and continued to the store without the knowledge that he had just been observed by Mary.  
David had frozen when he saw Mary’s expression. One moment the woman was looking out of the window and chatting about the merits of eating locally sourced organic foods and the next she took on a cold exterior that chilled David to the bone. He looked in the direction of the window but could only see the road and the buildings across the street.  
“What?” He asked her.  
“John. He just walked past the window.” She replied, still cold and emotionless. “ I haven’t seen him for over two weeks. He never said goodbye, just jumped into a car with Sherlock and Mycroft and drove off. He never had the decency to explain to me why he wasn’t coming home.”  
“He just walked by?” David asked.  
“Yes.”  
“Then what do we do? He shouldn’t see us yet.”  
“Pay the bill and bring the van around.” Mary stood and pulled on her coat. She picked up her satchel, slung it over her shoulder and left the pub, David scrambled to do as he’d been asked.  
John was in the cold section of the co-op store, browsing the steaks for dinner. His shopping trolley already full of fruits and veg, he was thinking of steak and grilled veggies done in a ginger and soy sauce, with maybe some sweet potato french fries as a side dish, and then Ben and Jerry’s Peanut Butter Cup ice cream, which Sherlock loved, as dessert.  
“John.” Mary was suddenly beside him. John felt his adrenaline surge, as his world reeled around him, her face was stoney and blank. He sucked in a breath and took a step backwards. As often as John had worried about this moment, he still was not prepared. “Oh for fuck’s sake John get a grip.” Mary looked disdainfully at him, “you had to know there would come a judgement day.”  
“You...you...” John struggled with his words. “You just want me, it’s our problem Mary, between you and I. Sherlock is irrelevant to any of this.”  
Mary broke into a smile and cocked her head. “First instinct is always Sherlock. John you are so predictable. Of course he is relevant.”  
“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll go with you and we can sort this out. Just leave Sherlock alone.” John offered, desperation creeping into his tone. Mary shrugged.  
“He’s a dead man John. Living on borrowed time. But you, you actually still have a choice.”  
“Which is?”  
“How you want him to die.”

******

Lizzy had now opened four of the interior doors of the cottage and was attempting to open the heavy front door, when Sherlock was summoned by his phone. Mycroft.  
“What?” Sherlock asked.  
“Mary and a cohort are in Pradannick Wollas, just picked up on CCTV footage. In the High Street.” Mycroft spoke. “Team on their way, ETA two minutes. Do not leave the cottage.”  
Sherlock went into action as soon as Mycroft had spoken, his Belstaff swirled onto his body while Lizzy deposited safely in her play pen in the kitchen. He slammed the front door shut as he took off at a run down the gravel drive and out onto the road towards the village, at a full run it would take him eight minutes.

*******


	8. Chapter 8

The final steep hill down into the village was difficult to run, but Sherlock managed, now panting; his breath labored, as he wasn’t back to full fitness since the shooting. He observed the police cars lining the main road through the village and two black Vauxhall Insignia cars parked haphazardly near The Dog and Fiddle pub, which meant that MI5 were on the scene. Sherlock scanned for any sign of John Watson, but could see none. As he neared the pub, two police officers, their arms out stretched, stopped him.

“Have to stop you Sir. Do you have business here in the village today?”

“I’m Sherlock Holmes, my friend...my husband is Doctor John Watson. Is he alright?” Sherlock spoke between gasps for breath.

“Wait here Mr Holmes.” A constable directed, “I’ll check.” He left to enter the co-op grocery store. Sherlock bent over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath and pull himself together, he only straightened when two plain clothes policemen came up to talk to him.

“Mr Holmes, we have permission from our superiors to allow you access to the crime scene.” One man spoke and Sherlock’s eyes opened wide at him in panic.

“Crime scene? Where’s John Watson?”

“It appears that there was a commotion of sorts in the shop and we believe Doctor Watson was abducted. There is no evidence to suggest any injuries occurred.” The officer attempted to calm Sherlock’s fear. 

“I need access to the scene and any witnesses.” Sherlock took command. “Immediately.”   
That final word was snapped at the two men. They nodded and led Sherlock into the shop and to the office at the rear of the premises. Several MI5 agents were scrutinizing the CCTV footage of the event. 

“Mr Holmes.” An agent acknowledged Sherlock. “I’m Paul Ingram, lead agent in charge. Please come and examine the footage”

Sherlock watched silently as the events were replayed for him. John shopping, placing items in his trolley, Mary’s entrance into the store, her approach to John, robotic in her affect, John’s clear shock at seeing her, their conversation appeared rife with tension, and then Mary reaching for John in an attempt to take his arm. John clearly rejected contact and pushed her hand away but Mary brought the hand up and back, gaining strength, then slapped John hard across the face, the momentum of which caused John to slightly stumble. John had retaliated by catching both of Mary’s arms and restraining them but Mary had turned swiftly to break the hold and had kicked out to make John fall to the floor. The shop assistant came into the frame to stop the physical fight that had sprung up and Mary appeared to yell something at him. The man left the shop abruptly. John had managed to stand and attempted to pull Mary into a restrictive hold but she elbowed him in the face then turned and kicked him in the groin. John doubled over. David entered the shop and with what looked like directions from Mary they took hold of John on both sides and manhandled him out of the building. John fought them but the kick to the groin had incapacitated him and they were able to jostle him out and into a waiting van.

Sherlock had silently watched the footage, thoughts running rapidly through his mind. He straightened his posture and looked at Ingram. “Two known assailants, blue VW van, targeted attack, I would expect that we have an idea of where the van was headed?”  
“Speed cameras are being assessed now. But we suspect they will aim to get as far away from the area as they can.” Ingram spoke.

“Sir.” Another agent came over. “We have instructions to take Mr Holmes to a safe house immediately.”

“My brother I presume.” Sherlock stated. “Fine, but I need to pick up something from the rental cottage first.” 

“Sorry we can’t take the risk of going to a location that maybe compromised.” Ingram stated.

“You have no choice in the matter.” Sherlock glared at him. “I need to retrieve my dog. Then I will comply.”

********

Within the hour Sherlock and Lizzy were in the back seat of a Vauxhall Insignia heading in an easterly direction away from the coast and the idyllic two and a half weeks of life at the cottage. Sherlock stared out of the window, Lizzy content on his lap, and wondered if the few months in Baker Street following his release from the hospital plus the fortnight of solitude and bliss in Cornwall, was all the time he and John would have for their romance. 

Something caught Sherlock’s attention; the driver, the MI5 agent, had a scar on his wrist, just visible when he maneuvered the wheel occasionally to the left. Obviously a tattoo removal scar, but the shape of the scar dislodged something in Sherlock’s mind palace. He searched quickly for the memory, suddenly stumbling on the disturbing truth. Moriarty’s hierarchal structure had specific tattoos, denoting rank, and worn as a badge of honor, the third tier, in descending order, wore a wrist tattoo of a spider. The scar on the driver’s wrist corresponded to the basic outline of that particular tattoo.   
Sherlock became aware of his geographical position; on the A30 heading east close to Bodmin Moor. He reached into his pocket for his phone and by touch alone, texted his brother an alert. He assessed the driver and the accompanying agent, they were tall and well built, they would know how to handle themselves in a fight.   
The detective sat back in his seat and stroked Lizzy. He would wait.

*******

John had been taken to the house in Bristol which Mary had used, on and off, as her home base. John did not know the place existed but David had the property rigged with the appropriate technology and appeared as if he stayed frequently at the house.  
Mary was clearly in charge and barked orders at David, which he accepted in awed respect. John was allowed to sit in the kitchen unrestrained, a sign of arrogance on Mary’s part maybe, but all the doors and windows were locked, plus both Mary and David were armed.

Mary finally pulled up a chair at the kitchen table, sat down opposite to John, and gave him a quizzical stare.

“You just walked away from me. You discarded me as if I were a piece of garbage. I was the woman you married, loved. How could you?”  
“I don’t know you.” John met her cold expression with a matching one of his own. “I have no idea who you are. I owe you nothing. You position yourself in my life in order to monitor me, you fool me into a romance and marriage, you fake a pregnancy, you shoot my best friend, you lie constantly. Why should I remain with you? What explanation did I owe you?”

“You do know me. The real me. The one that loved you. All the details are just embellishment, they are not who I am.”

“What you are is a cold blooded killer, an assassin. You tried to murder Sherlock. That is who you are Mary. And I don’t want any part of that.” John finally looked away from her eyes; they were dead.

“Sherlock.” Mary spat out the name. “The moment he returned I knew, I knew every good thing we had would disappear. I knew you would eventually chose him.”

John slowly looked back at her. “I chose him a long time ago. I lost him for a while and during that time you entered my life and I thought I could have a life again. Then he returned, and I do admit that he will always be my priority. Yes I should have called the wedding off, but I didn’t, and then you were pregnant. I remained faithful to you and committed to our marriage until you shot Sherlock. That was the deal breaker.” John swallowed and grimaced at the thought of the shooting. “Then to discover you had been lying to me all along. No, no return from that Mary.”

“You were never going to remain faithful to me. You should see how you look at him. Any idiot can tell you are lovestruck. He had to die.” Mary showed no emotion as the words passed her lips. “I needed time to escape and knew you would get wrapped up in trying to help him, so I went for the chest. In hindsight I should have taken the head shot.”  
John cringed at that. Mary broke into a smile.

“Why do you have me here?” John asked.

“Bait.”

“You tried that when you took Mr and Mrs Holmes, didn’t work for you did it?”

Mary laughed, “of course it worked. I only took them in order to force Mycroft to get lax and send his brother a phone call that wasn’t encoded. Once I had that David could get a read on where you two were hiding out. It worked perfectly.”

“So you intend to kill Sherlock, and, I presume, me?”

“Not sure.” Mary squinted in thought. “Yes on Sherlock. You....it may be fun to watch you live in grief again. You need me then. You know that I am your only source of comfort. We could go back to how it was.”

John shook his head in disbelief. “You are deluded. I can’t stand the sight of you now, and if you actually kill him, then I will live to kill you.”

Mary stared in contemplation at John for several minutes, an eerie silence hanging between them. Finally she stood. “Fine. Both of you then. You watch him die, then I shoot you.” She turned and left the room. 

John remained at the table, he put his head in his hands and sighed with frustration. He could attempt to escape; he thought he could hold his own over David certainly, and if he forgot that Mary was female, he might have a fair chance of overpowering her. But to what end? Mary was relentless, and she would keep in pursuit, whilst avoiding the authorities. If she could keep off Mycroft’s radar, then she was bloody good at evasion. If John remained in captivity at least then he would know where Mary was and could look for a weakness in her plan, which was ultimately to kill Sherlock. John felt his best option to prevent that eventuality was to remain exactly where he was. 

*******

The evening was dark as the Vauxhall passed across Bodmin Moor, Sherlock could just see his reflection in the window now. He knew escape had to be attempted before the two agents had him at their planned destination. Lizzy was a concern; he needed her out of the picture if he were to engage the agents in a physical fight, yet he couldn’t risk her getting lost on the moor, was she intelligent enough to understand? Sherlock decided to risk it.

“My dog needs to be walked, she’s still a pup, I don’t want her fouling the car.” Sherlock stated. The agents looked at one another, the driver rolling his eyes. The car pulled over into a lay-by. “I shan’t be a tick.” Sherlock exited the car swiftly with Lizzy on her leash. The agents followed suit and stood watching as Sherlock walked the pup onto the moor, he headed for an outcropping of large stones about two hundred yards from the road, just far enough away that the darkness obscured a detailed view for the agents as they stayed by the car. 

Sherlock kicked up the edge of a large rock and bent to place the top of Lizzy’s leash under it. He kicked the rock back down and the leash was held securely.   
“I’ll be right back.” He whispered to the dog. Lizzy looked up at him and wagged her tail. Sherlock turned and bent to retrieve a good hand sized rock, which he palmed. He then moved back in the direction of the agents. “ I need help with the pup.” He called once he was in clear eye sight of the men, “she’s managed to cut her paw, can one of you hold her whilst I take a look?”

Again the agents glanced at one another, this time a look of exasperation passed between them, one shrugged his shoulders and walked towards Sherlock. The detective waited for him to come close then turned and pointed; “she’s by the rocks just over here.” He led the agent a further hundred foot, till they saw Lizzy waiting with tail wagging. “If you could just pick her up and hold her, I can use the torch in my iPhone to examine her paw.” Sherlock was projecting his best ‘concerned dog owner’ persona.

The agent bent down towards Lizzy and Sherlock coshed him on the head with the rock he held in his hand. The force of the blow, plus the location to the left side of the head, resulted in an immediate unconscious state. The man fell and lay in front of a concerned and confused Lizzy. “Good girl.” Sherlock gave her a brief pat on the head and whispered; “you’ll see a lot of violence living with us, it’s all fine.” He received a lick on the hand for that reassurance. 

The second agent was still by the car, but becoming nervous, which caused him to yell out into the blackness of the moor; “is everything OK? You both need to return, NOW.” 

Sherlock picked up the rock he had used as a weapon and headed for the road, but went wide enough to circle, in the darkness, as to approach the car from the road and not the moor. The remaining agent had tentatively started to walk onto the moor, becoming suspicious, still calling out for them to return. Sherlock came up behind him, which gave him the element of surprise and managed to get the first blow to the agent’s head using the rock. The agent stumbled to the right, turning and immediately defending himself; he landed a blow to Sherlock’s ribs, then another to his jaw, but the detective had the momentum and swung another blow to connect with the agents throat. This blow temporarily stopped the agent’s breathing and he collapsed onto his knees, Sherlock swung and with a blow landing to the front of the head the agent went down. Sherlock took out his iPhone and swiped the torch function on, he quickly examined the agent’s wrist to better evaluate the scar. He had not been wrong, the scar was to cover the original spider tattoo, and further up the agent’s arm was proof of his elevation in Moriarty’s ranks; a tattoo of a small spiders web. Sherlock fished out the car keys from the agents pocket and ran to fetch Lizzy.

Within a few minutes Sherlock and Lizzy were in the Vauxhall speeding along the A30, Mycroft on the hands free phone.

“Clearly your organization has been infiltrated by Moriarty’s men.” Sherlock spoke with disgust.

“No matter how vigilant, slip ups occur.” Mycroft defended. “But do they tie in to Mary and her abduction of John?”

“No idea. Do you have a location for John?”

“The van appears to have headed for Bristol. My team are working on it.” 

“Work them faster.” Sherlock shut off the communication with anger.

A petrol station came into view and Sherlock decided to fill up the car and get Lizzy some food and water. Once those tasks were completed, he took his seat behind the wheel and was contemplating his next move. The agents were taking him in the direction of Bristol. Sherlock suddenly had an idea. He turned on the sat nav and brought up ‘recent destinations’, and there, in all it’s glory, was an address in Bristol. If they were working with Mary then they were probably delivering him to her. He grinned.

“Lizzy, let’s go and find John.” The pup wagged her tail.

*******


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a death in this chapter, so be warned. I am sure you are already expecting it, as it's been canon for over a hundred years, but I do make it a violent death. If you shoot Sherlock you have to get payback. It's how I roll.

Mary had bought John suitable sleeping apparel, which were displayed on the bed for his approval. John grimaced at the scene. The duvet from their flat, or one identical, was on the double bed, Mary’s pajamas were strewn across one of the pillows, and, on a quick inspection of the bathroom, John found all his favorite brands of toiletries. John shook his head in disbelief. Mary had intended to make John feel at home here; in a locked bolt hole in Bristol, abducted and with threat of death hanging over his head, Mary had attempted to make it homely! John went back to the bedroom and sat on the end of the bed; when you add in madness, you can not predict a person’s actions. John looked up. David stood at the bedroom door watching him. 

“You never deserved her.”

“I don’t deserve this!” John hissed back. “I believed her, I went on good faith and became involved with her, I bloody married her. What did I do to cause any of this?”

“”You chose Sherlock Holmes over her.” David spat back, anger on his face.

“Maybe. Maybe.” John was angry too. “But I honored my commitment to her, I had loyalty to her, and I would have remained married to her if she hadn’t shoot Sherlock, if she hadn’t lied to me about everything.”

“Yeah, well as they say in the movies; you couldn’t handle the truth.”

“The truth was a nightmare.” John’s voice raised in volume.

“The truth is she is no ordinary woman, she is brilliant, lethal, ruthless and as sexy as hell. I can handle a woman like that, I can accept her, men like you can’t handle a powerful woman.” David was yelling and stabbing a finger in John’s direction. “She was wasted on you.”

John gave a smirk and stood up. “I can’t handle evil, I can’t handle someone that has no moral code to live by, someone that invents a pregnancy to keep me around.”

“And Sherlock Holmes is so very different? I’ve met the psycho, remember.”

“Sherlock has a moral code, a strong moral code that he does live by.” John defended, his ire raising.

David shifted posture, aggression apparent. “Yeah, his moral code is Save John Watson. That’s about it mate.”

“It’s more than that, he’s saved this nation more than once, he’s saved countless lives, he’s risked his life for others.”

“You are deluded. He doesn’t care about anything but you.”

“You don’t know him. And this isn’t about Sherlock, this is about Mary...or whatever her name is, this is about her selfishly wanting to keep me, so much so she will abduct and murder.” John stood close to David, “but one thing for sure ‘mate’, none of this is about you.”

David swallowed, his eyes darted from John’s in acceptance of that fact.

“Boys, boys.” Mary emerged, ascending the staircase, clearly having listened to the argument. “I am flattered David, you are such a love.” She gave David a peck on the cheek as she passed him. “Defending my honor.” She turned her attention to John. “Like the bedroom?”

“You thought I would?” John was incredulous.

“Home away from home.” Mary surveyed the bedroom. “or home away from Holmes!”

“Sherlock is my home. Not you,....not you Mary, home is not here, nor in that flat we shared, 221B is the only home I have ever known. You don’t have the capacity to recreate that.”

“That disgusting place?” Mary scoffed.

“That perfect place. For me. For me it’s perfect. You could never have given me that. If Sherlock hadn’t returned from the dead, I would have lived my life homesick.” John delivered the blow and Mary’s face registered the hit. 

“It took so little to take you from me.” Mary frowned.

“I was never yours.” John whispered. “A substitute is all you ever were. Even if Sherlock had been dead, I would have always felt empty, you could never have filled his place in my life, in my heart.”

Mary reacted with a sharp blow to John’s skull and a kick to the knees, John collapsed onto the bedroom floor. She delivered on last blow to his face and left the room. John rolled on the floor in pain. David, still in the doorway watching, smiled. “Isn’t she wonderful?” He asked, before turning and following Mary down the stairs.

*******

Later that evening, after John had managed to recover himself, tend to his split lip and finally lay down in bed, he drifted into a disturbed sleep. Outside, watching from the cover of a small park, was Sherlock.

Sherlock had found the property without a glitch, he drove past and then found a good place to park. It was nine at night and the lights were all on, but blinds obscured his view into the interior. He searched his mobile for a twenty four hour veterinary clinic, with the idea of leaving Lizzy in a safe environment during the time he was rescuing John. He found a Petscare Hospital not far from the location and drove there. He explained that he had a family emergency and paid handsomely to leave Lizzy overnight, making sure the staff had Mycroft’s contact details incase of a problem. Lizzy looked at him as he bid farewell, an inquisitive look on her face, she accepted his kiss to her head and licked him back, then reluctantly went with the veterinary assistant to the designated run for the night.

On return to the stake out, the detective left the car three hundred yards to the north and walked to the cluster of trees in the park that gave him a place to hide whilst he decided what to do. Clearly the property was heavily alarmed, David would have surveillance on a large perimeter, ruling out a stealth entry. Therefore it had to be a focused entry, one of diversion. Sherlock checked the time: Eleven ten. It appeared that the only recourse was to call the men in the big red engine. 

Eight minutes and thirty two seconds later the Fire Brigade arrived. Sirens whirling and lights flashing, four fire fighters jumped from the vehicle and ran to the front door of Mary’s bolt hole. They rammed at the door with their fists. As David opened the front door, Sherlock ran across the road from the park and looked into the cab of the fire engine and found a jacket, he pulled it on and quickly walked to the driveway of the property, ducking down by the far side of David’s van, as if looking underneath it. Meanwhile David had failed to convince the lead fire officer that there wasn’t a fire, and had reluctantly allowed the man in to check the kitchen while the other officer’s returned to the engine, muttering ‘hoax’ and ‘bloody kids’ as they went. The front door was open, unguarded, Sherlock took his opportunity; he ran up the path and entered the house, taking a hiding position behind the front door.

During the commotion, and from the first sound of the sirens, Mary had armed herself and headed up to the bedroom, John was awake, sitting on the side of the bed. Mary gestured to him to stand. 

“It would appear that Sherlock has arrived.” She stated, the gun pointed at him, “we were expecting him under escort but apparently he saw through that plan and has gone solo.” 

John smiled. “He has a habit of doing that.”

Mary kicked the bedroom door shut and took a stance behind John, the gun at his head. 

Downstairs the fire brigade were leaving, an officer giving advice and speculating on kids playing a prank. 

David saw the officer out the front door with a warm goodbye and apology, but on closing the door he was suddenly knocked to the floor by six foot of consulting detective and pissed off husband. Sherlock managed to get three heavy blows in to David before David landed a punch to Sherlock’s shoulder, they rolled and struggled for dominance, David pulling hard on the handful of dark curls he had managed to grab. Sherlock hissed and bent backwards to relieve the pain, David momentarily lulled by the lack of tension let go of the hair which allowed Sherlock to head butt the man, and roll them in order to pin him to the floor. One more blow to David’s face and the fight was ebbing in Sherlock’s favor. 

“Stop Sherlock.” It was Mary at the top of the stairs. The detective looked up. John was in front of her with a gun to his head. “You are such a uniform slut! Couldn’t resist the firemen?”

“I prefer soldiers, but in a pinch....” Sherlock deadpanned. He stood up and David rolled over in distress. 

“David do get up and help.” Mary sounded patronizing as she and John descended the stairs. Sherlock looked John over for injuries and noted the split lip and bruise to the right eye. John gave a small nod and thin smile. “We were waiting for you. Thought you’d be here earlier.” Mary stated.

“The agents needed to stop on Bodmin Moor, some lovely scenery.” Sherlock straightened his clothes as he took off the fire jacket.

“Kitchen.” Mary moved her head in the general direction then frog marched John into the room and deposited him at the table. Sherlock followed. Mary turned on the gas burners on the cooker, then stood with gun pointed at John.

“Planning on a midnight snack?” Sherlock noted the flames. He took a seat next to John at the table. David entered the room, he carried a second gun. “No? Then what is the plan?”

“My husband needs to learn a lesson.” Mary looked calm and cool. “Which is the one truth. He cannot leave me.” 

“I was never a hundred percent with you.” John stared her down, “and from that night at the restaurant when this idiot showed up, as a bloody French waiter of all things, I was not with you at all. In case you are wondering, I left you that night.”

“Before I had done anything, before you knew?” Mary looked horrified.

“Yes. I was pissed as hell with him, but yeah, I had already packed my bags emotionally that night, the rest was just going through the motions.” John ‘s expression added; ‘what did you expect?’

Mary attempted to pistol whip John for that revelation, but Sherlock jumped up and blocked her arm. John ducked and went under the table to grab at David’s feet, he pulled and David went down. Sherlock whirled Mary around but Mary managed to get a shot off, the bullet entered Sherlock’s thigh, which caused him to bend forwarded giving Mary the opportunity to wrap her arm around his throat. John was struggling with David on the floor and in two swift movements he elbowed David in the windpipe, stunning him, and then took the gun from the man’s hand. John finished his assault with a kick to the head and David was unconscious and out of the game.

John focused on Mary, she had Sherlock in a choke hold near the cooker. 

“Let him go.” John stated.

“Fuck you.” Mary scoffed. Pushing Sherlock down and into the stove top, his face close to the red hot burners, the gas flames singeing his hair. Sherlock braced himself with one hand pushing back from the heat. His other hand attempting to stop the blood flow from his thigh. “You like them burnt don’t you John? Shall we make Sherlock and Sholto a matching set?” Mary was now manic.

“Mary, last chance. Let him go.” John stated once again, his voice calm and determined, but his breathing rapid.

“Think you will still want him if his face is burnt off? Not so pretty to kiss, if he doesn’t have lips.” Mary pushed harder and Sherlock nearly went into the gas flame. 

John took a head shot and Mary jerked backwards with the momentum, going limp, all hold on Sherlock relinquished, she slid to the floor. Sherlock pushed away from the cooker and looked as the woman they knew as Mary Watson died before them. 

John placed the gun on the table and went to Sherlock, silently he checked the detective’s face for burns; apart from a first degree red flash burn to the forehead, there were none. John looked at the thigh wound, it was bleeding but appeared to be on the flank with little muscle involvement. He looked into Sherlock’s eyes.

“You’ll walk fine, and your still so bloody pretty, sit down and call Mycroft for clean up.” John smiled at him, then turned to check on Mary. 

“You took a head shot, you could have gone for a body shot.” Sherlock observed. “Why?”

John turned, still crouching near Mary’s body, “she would never have given up. No matter if she was incarcerated, we would have still been pursued. I can’t live like that. We can’t live like that. It had to end. Moriarty’s threat, to burn your heart out, it ends here, in this kitchen. It’s al over Sherlock. I want our life back.”

Sherlock met John’s eyes and he expressed understanding in his expression. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. We save each other’s lives, it’s what we do.”

“No, thank you for choosing me. No one has ever chosen me. Thank you for that.”

“I will every time. You are my choice.” John gave a small smile and stood. “ Phone Mycroft. Need a clean up.”

Taking out his phone, Sherlock called his brother.

******


	10. Chapter 10

“I, John Hamish Watson, do solemnly take you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, to be my husband; to love and to cherish, protect and to nurture, keeping myself only unto you all the days of my life.”

“I, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, do solemnly take you, John Hamish Watson,... John, to be my lawful husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love you and to cherish you, to defend and protect you, to adore you, keeping myself only unto you, until death do us part. I hereby plight thee my troth.”

The Registrar smiled and placed the rings on the table in front of them.

John placed one ring on Sherlock’s third finger, left hand; “This ring is a symbol of my love, commitment and fidelity to you.”

Sherlock picked up the remaining ring, and placed it on John’s finger; “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”

They stared at each other, lost for a moment in the relief that they had reached this point and were still standing. John finally broke a smile. The Registrar took her cue:

“I now pronounce you husbands under the laws of Her Majesty’s Government of the United Kingdom. Congratulations.”

Lestrade started to applaud, as Molly, Mr Holmes, Mrs Hudson, Bill Wiggins and Mike Stamford followed suit. Mrs Holmes wept silently and Mycroft held back an emotion.

*****

A small luncheon followed at Angelo’s.

*****

“So, how do you feel now it’s all done and dusted?” John was slumped in his chair, it was later that evening, with several champagne flutes and tumblers of whiskey consumed since the nuptials.

Sherlock gave a giggle from his similar position, slumped in his chair. “I feel......married.”

“More married than before?” John was curious, and drunk. 

“Yes...no....not really. I feel....solid. Yes solid and secure. Married and solid and secure.” Sherlock nodded.

“Solid and secure in me?”

“Yes. That you are really mine for ever and ever.” There was a hint that tears maybe forthcoming in the tone of voice.

“Hey...no, no, Sherlock, don’t be ...whatever you are going to be. I am yours, always have been really. Just an idiot.” John sat up and leaned towards his husband.

“Yes, you are an idiot.” Sherlock laughed, “I keep telling you.”

“Prize idiot.” John grinned. “You’re an idiot too. A genius idiot though.” John intended that as a high compliment. “And pretty, and very sexy, but an idiot all the same.”

“Will you promise me one thing..another thing besides all the promises you made today?” Sherlock waved his whiskey glass through the air.

“Yup.”

“That somehow, you will get us to a retirement cottage. Two old men, still in love and driving each other insane. I want that.” Sherlock shifted forward toward John, “ I won’t be able to get us there, so you have to do it. Get us there John, promise.”

“Done.” John was absolute. “Promise.”

“Can we go to bed now?” Sherlock asked. “It’s my Wedding Night.”

John pointed at Sherlock, immediately recalling that fact. “Yes, it is. Your Wedding Night. And mine... I think. We need to consum....consume, consommé, console....”

“Consummate.” Sherlock helped out.

“We need to consummate each other.” John staggered up into a standing position, then immediately sat back down. “Or maybe not.”

“Can we do that tomorrow? I think we may be a bit tipsy.” The detective slumped back into his chair. ‘Let’s just go to bed and kiss.”

“Good idea.” John achieved a standing position and offered Sherlock assistance. They somehow managed to get into the bedroom and onto the bed. Lizzy who had been watching the proceedings with disgust, followed and jumped into her dog bed.

John and Sherlock lay across the bed and rolled to face each other.

“I love you.” Sherlock squinted at John as if he were making sure the recipient of the sentiment was indeed John Watson.

“I love you.” John beamed back, then immediately fell asleep. Sherlock traced the contours of John’s face with a finger. His heart full of love and happiness. If this was his Wedding Night he really couldn’t ask for better.

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone that followed me with this series. I hope it helped fix S3. The same John and Sherlock are in my other stories. Post married most of the time. So if you want to visit them, please do. Thank you all.


End file.
